


breathing cleaner air

by delimeful



Series: Delimeful's Bad Things Happen Bingo Fills [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Body Horror, Dehumanization, Dissociation, Eventual Happy Ending, Fear of Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, Miscommunication, Seraphim, Transformation, Violence, fantasy monsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delimeful/pseuds/delimeful
Summary: Roman enters the woods as a knight and prince of his kingdom, hunting a dangerous creature for the good of them all.He leaves the woods... different.-BTHB: Painful Transformation
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Delimeful's Bad Things Happen Bingo Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848409
Comments: 21
Kudos: 117





	1. inhale

**Author's Note:**

> this is a multichapter fic, but this first chapter ends on a very concerning note. there is an eventual happy ending in later chapters, promise!

Roman wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been separated from the rest of his entourage.

One moment, Logan was at his shoulder, his firm hand keeping Roman from stumbling over gnarled tree roots, and the next, he was alone, with only faint echoes of his own voice to keep him company.

Their quarry was certainly powerful, to be able to warp so much of the woods around them with thick fog and unnatural darkness. He should have expected as much.

After all, this was the same monster that had been infiltrating the Dimiour kingdom at night and stealing away children from their families. It would _have_ to be strong in order to pull that off.

His right-hand knight would surely recommend retreating and regrouping in more neutral territory, but this was the first time they’d actually caught the fiend in the act. Seraphs were notoriously agile, with the maneuverability of the three sets of razor-sharp wings that had earned them their moniker. Once one was out of sight, it wasn’t likely to be seen again.

This time, though, the tracer spell on Roman’s compass was still active and locked on to the target.

There was no way he could return to his court empty-handed. He was the crown prince. He couldn’t be a failure. Not when there was so much at stake.

Firming his shoulders, he pushed onwards, his sword drawn.

The forest was eerily quiet around him, making the scuff of his shoes against the ground seem harsh enough to lead any enemy right to him. He shook off the thought; he was the one pursuing here. Let them come and face him.

Roman glanced up from his compass, and paused at the sight of a familiar-looking rotting tree trunk. He’d noticed one just like it about thirty paces back because it had a rare strain of fungus that Remus would have liked. What were the odds that the same rare fungus dotted the same side of a different identical rotting log?

Sure enough, another thirty paces and the log popped up again. Despite following the needle of his compass devotedly, he was being led in circles. A mind-altering ability, along with the manipulation of light and water they’d already seen? Roman shuddered, imagining what the monster could be planning with so much power at its disposal.

Luckily, Roman had more than enough faith in Logan’s spellcasting.

He closed his eyes, letting the clink of the needle guide his steps closer and closer to his target. His mind rebelled, senses muffling as though he was walking through thick honey instead of air, and then, with a pop, he was though.

When he opened his eyes, there was a small house in a clearing in front of him.

It was less ramshackle than he would have expected, the candlelight in the windows looking almost cozy compared to the dark forest surrounding it.

Assured that the kidnapping culprit lay just ahead, he tucked the compass into his pocket, strode forward, and kicked the door down.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the middle of the room, who had spun around at his arrival.

It looked startlingly human, wide eyed and messy haired, but the single set of dark wings taking up half the room were a dead giveaway to the seraph’s true nature. Those fragile core wings could be hidden, protected, even glamored away, but they never vanished entirely. They were the most reliable way to expose a seraph hidden in a human guise.

The seraph swore lowly, flaring the feathery appendages out to make itself look bigger.

Roman could just barely make out the small figures crowded against the back corner of the room, anxious eyes peering out at him. He felt something in him loosen in relief at the sight of the children still alive, if undoubtedly terrified. He’d half-expected the horrific alternative.

“I’ll tell you this once, you feathery fiend,” he said, pointing his sword at the monster directly. “Release the innocents you’ve kidnapped, and I won’t make your end painful.”

Its pupils narrowed to slits, and it spread its wings wider, hiding the children from view. When it spoke, there was a high, grating discordant note under the words. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Then face the consequences!” Roman shouted, and lunged.

The seraph was surprisingly adept at defending, flexing its hands and using long, sharp claws to block his blows and get in some of its own. Even in battle, it always remained between Roman and the children it held hostage, and the poor things were too frightened to respond to his calls for them to run.

Frustrating, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. In the end, Roman had been trained with the sword since he could stand, and no child-abducting angel impersonator could best him in battle.

When the inevitable opening came, he seized it, pushing forward until the seraph’s back was to the wall. Cornered, it hissed lowly at him before catching his next strike on its claws. It strained against his sword, its shaking arms the only thing keeping his blade from reaching its throat. Only a little further, and--

“Stop it!” A small voice shouted, on the edge of tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roman’s head jerked up, his attention caught by the distressed call.

The children were still huddled together, but one at the front of the group had stepped forward, fists clenched and gaze angry.

“Leave him alone!” she demanded, glaring directly at Roman.

Something fluttered at her back, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“You’re--,” he started, and then the seraph twisted in his grip, and he only barely caught the motion of its hand toward his head before glass shattered against his skull.

He staggered back as thick liquid spilled over his head, too cool to be blood.

Rather than pursue the opening, the seraph stepped back, wings finally settling back against its back. The lack of aggression was strange, after it had so fiercely responded to his challenge. Seraphim weren’t known for mercy.

Roman stepped forwards, his mouth shaping the first syllable of a question, and then abruptly understood as his body began to burn coldly, like he’d pressed ice directly to every inch of his skin. His sword dropped from numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

He’d been poisoned.

“New plan, we’re moving tonight,” the seraph began to speak, addressing the children, but Roman’s heartbeat was too loud in his ears to make out the rest of its words.

He fell to hands and knees, a line of burning pain along his spine. Some of the children sent him looks, nervous or pitying or angry, but most were busy scurrying around and gathering everything that wasn’t nailed down. He could see now, the small sets of wings on each and every one’s back, marking them as his kingdom’s enemies.

Why had he been told they were human? A leak in the court? Who had lied?

The seraph crouched in front of him, gaze unreadable. Its eyes were mismatched, Roman noticed nonsensically as another wave of pain shuddered through him.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” It brushed the remains of a glass vial from its hand, and Roman stared at the dark liquid left on the pieces.

“Wh--at did you _do_. To me,” he grit out between pants, struggling to keep himself upright.

“Congrats. You get to see how it feels to be us. To be hunted,” the seraph told him with an unfriendly smile. “Maybe it’ll change your perspective a little. Or maybe you’ll just bite it.”

It shrugged and flipped up its hood, rising to its feet, and kicked Roman’s sword up into its grip. Roman protested the theft on principle, but his voice came out strained and feeble like he’d never heard it before.

Before it followed the last kid out the door, it paused, glancing at him one last time.

“Once the bones are done, it gets easier,” it told him. “Good luck.”

Roman didn’t realize just what that meant until he heard the first resounding _crack_.

He finally lost his battle with gravity, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. That _noise--_ from inside him--?

There was another crack, and a series of pops like dislocating joints, and then his skin was melting and he was fading in and out of consciousness, roused and put under by the same overwhelming, all-consuming agony. Each time he woke, he could hear grinding and shifting inside of him, as though his insides were rebelling against their natural placement.

The seraph hadn’t been lying: the bones were the most painful part, and once the last one had clicked back into place, there was a palpable difference in pain levels. He still hurt, ached beyond measure, but it was no longer so much that he couldn’t even think past the pain. It almost felt like relief.

Roman focused on breathing, slow and deep, until he felt a little less like he was going to shake apart. He didn’t know of any poison that could do something like this. It was magic-- strong, cursed magic, and unlike Logan’s, there was no softness in it.

It took what felt like hours for him to gain the resolve to push himself up, and even longer to maintain the motion even as every nerve ending in his body protested. His vision was blurry, and his balance felt entirely off, even more so than that time Remus had dared him to jump off the roof and he’d gotten a concussion.

When he finally properly looked down at himself, he found feathers and bone lining his hands, transforming them into sharp claws and rigid armor. Familiar, but only because he’d seen them on his enemies time and time again.

The shock of adrenaline at the sight was helpful in pushing his aching muscles to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees and twisted to look at himself, staring at the three sets of bright wings draped down from his back.

Golden and white feathers lined them, lined his ears and throat and chest, framing the white exoskeleton pieces inset in his skin.

He sat back on his haunches, and took a few deep, whistling breaths before trying to speak, to say anything in his own voice. To prove he was still himself.

The sound that emerged from his throat was hollow and resonant, like woodwind instruments in harmony. It sent chills of anticipation down his spine, for he’d only ever heard the uncanny call before battle.

There was no denying it, however much he might want to. His body had been warped, transformed into the worst enemy of his kingdom, the beasts that plagued their people day and night. He was a seraph.

He had to get help.

Surely, there was someone among the court who knew about this curse, who could procure a solution, some kind of cure. He couldn’t be stuck as a monster, he was Dimiour’s crown prince!

He pushed himself up to his feet and found he was taller than before, limbs thin and spindly. All six of the wings lifted and curled around him automatically, creating the shell of bright feathery limbs that marked a seraph on defense. They were lighter than he would have expected, seeing as he knew the true form feathers were as sharp as any knife.

He stumbled through the door into the open forest air, taking a significant chunk out of the door frame as he went. His limbs were unsteady with inexperience, the gait distinctly different, almost hunched over to counterbalance the weight of his-- _the_ wings.

In the distance, Roman heard voices calling his name.

He loped towards the sounds with barely a thought, attempting not to overthink every staggering movement. The underbrush scraped and rattled around him, announcing his presence well before he cleared the treeline and found himself faced with the weapons of his own squadron.

He tried to speak automatically, to show them that he wasn’t what they thought, but all that left him were those discordant, eerie notes, like overlapping birds of prey. He sounded like a nightmare come to life, and he noticed with abrupt horror that some of the newer trainees were faltering, clapping hands over their ears.

A blade flashed in the corner of his vision, and he raised an arm automatically. With a clang, the attacking knight’s glaive rebounded off his arm so sharply that the man wielding it nearly toppled. Another knight quickly moved between them, weapon raised defensively as their fellow recovered.

Roman stared at his arm, now covered in an extra layer, a hardened shell of bone. The armor had appeared-- had _ossified into place,_ quicker than he could think.

“Hold!” A familiar voice called, and Roman turned to it like it was an oasis in a drought. Logan. Logan was here, he was the smartest person he knew, if anyone would have a solution, it would be him.

An odd crooning note bubbled up from his chest, but it cut off sharply at the sight of his right-hand man.

Logan stood sturdy with his scythe staff held up in one hand, and not a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Move on, continue searching for our liege,” he directed, voice firm. “I will handle this opponent.”

Roman screeched, wings flaring in upset, trying over and over to manage anything recognizable as human speech. Anything at all that would let his closest friend identify him.

Logan didn’t even flinch at the sound, well-practiced in filtering out the skull-splitting calls of seraphim. He’d been in more battles than Roman ever had, out on the field while Roman was stuck learning courtly etiquette.

He’d earned himself the mantle of ‘Executioner’, and the thought had never sent a chill down Roman’s spine the way it did now.

But then, _Roman_ had never been the one on this end of Logan’s casting, had he?

The others continued forward on their commanding officer’s orders, searching for someone who stood right before them, and abandoning him to a fight he couldn’t win.

Logan knew seraphim better than anyone else, how they functioned on every level.

Roman barely knew how to operate this new body, and more than that, he was terrified of it, of the damage he could unknowingly deal his best friend. It could hardly be called an equal match.

Still, it was almost a surprise to feel the impact of Logan’s first cast, a draining spell designed to weaken the enemy. He didn’t want to believe this situation was real, any of it, but the burning pins and needles racing through him were undeniable.

His wings wrapped around him more securely, he intended to turn, to flee the way no prince should. Perhaps it was this cowardice that resulted in the way he only made it two steps before exhaustion made him stumble.

Or maybe it was the way the most painful transformation of his life had turned his body inside-out what felt like mere moments ago.

Either way, he was in no position to dodge the next spell, or resist the darkness blooming in his vision as he tipped over that precarious line into unconsciousness.

His last glimpse of the world around him was Logan, weapon in hand, striding closer with his face set determinedly. Roman’s foolishness had never managed to outlast or outwit that expression before, and he had no doubt that this instance would be much the same.

At least, with any luck, his friend would never know what he’d done.


	2. hold

Roman woke up, which was a surprise in itself.

He was sprawled over a wooden floor, covered in what seemed to be a significant amount of unbound hay. His body ached severely, and he spent a moment waiting for his brain to register how horrifically itchy he must be under all this straw.

A beat later, he recalled that his sense of touch had grown muted and strange as soon as his skin vanished behind a layer of bone and keratin. Not itchy after all, then.

Whatever he was laying on, it was moving, slowly but steadily, and he couldn’t seem to make his body move more than an inch. He couldn’t even lift his head to see over the short back barrier of the space.

A twinge of pain, and then he was blinking rapidly as a new source of vision opened up, creating a dizzying overlay effect. He closed his eyes, and found that the new sightline was all that remained, showing him sprawling fields and a dirt road slowly inching past.

It was an eye, popping up on his shoulder armor as though that was a reasonable place for an eye to appear. He shuddered, revulsed, and it sunk away into nothing with a sharp spike of pain, leaving him with only the pair of eyes on his face.

Roman took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. His body had been malformed, and his best friend had attacked him, and now he was here, unharmed but for his immobility and the strange quirks of this new form. Surely Logan wouldn’t dispose of a corpse without first checking that it was actually deceased?

He had to be sprawled in the back of a covered wagon of some sort, the slow rhythmic motion of the vehicle thankfully not enough to jar any of his newly-obtained wings. If he’d been an actual seraph, he would have plenty of motivation to murder the farmer hired to move its ‘corpse’. Logan would never be so sloppy as to risk civilians like that.

So then, how had he gotten to this point?

He chewed on the question as time passed, mentally going around in circles until the wagon ground to a stop.

Footsteps circled the body of the vehicle, and stopped. Roman resisted the urge to try and make another eye to look through.

A surge of magic later, his body felt suddenly lighter, and he jolted upright into a sitting position, head turning to the back of the wagon.

Logan stood there, his staff held in a defensive block position. “Hello there.”

Roman made to indignantly ask what he was playing at, but all that came from him was a fierce shrieking whistle, not from his mouth but from his throat, where there were irregular gaps in the armor covering.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re confused,” Logan continued, still on guard. “I’m pleased to inform you that though I don’t yet have a solution to your ailment, I have no plans to kill you.”

A wave of relief washed over Roman, and he preened slightly, so immensely grateful that his best friend was a genius. How he’d figured it out, Roman had no idea, but clearly, he’d known from the moment Roman had stumbled past the treeline.

He leaned forward, intending on some kind of friendly contact, and Logan took a step back, his staff smoothly moving to point out in threat.

“No closer, please,” he instructed firmly. “I can’t understand you or your intentions at the moment. You’ll have to wait until we reach the others so they can translate.”

Roman drooped, wings drawing in around him as though he’d received a physical blow. The guarded look in those eyes, the stiff lines of his body– Logan hadn’t looked so wary around Roman since he’d still thought him a snobby prince with a hatred of all things magical.

“It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Logan offered, awkward the way he only way around strangers.

Roman sat back heavily, the shifted weight of his new form making the wagon shake slightly. Logan had secreted him away without knowing his true identity. He was taking a ‘defeated’ seraph somewhere in secret. He’d mentioned others. Other seraphim.

Logan had been on the field much longer than him, but they’d fought side-by-side together whenever Roman could shake his duties. How many monsters had Logan been preserving right under his nose?

Logan scythed his weapon through the air without hesitation, easily settling another heavy sedation spell on him. Belatedly, he realized that a low, threatening growl– a sound like the deepest timbre on a pipe organ– had bubbled up from his chest.

 _Good_ , he thought furiously as he settled back into a hazy unconsciousness. Why shouldn’t he be angry? In every sense of the word, he’d been betrayed.

-

When he next woke, the wagon had once again stopped and his body ached a little less. Soon, there were warm hands carefully supporting him from either side, lifting him from the pile of hay and settling him on soft fabric.

Voices spoke in soft murmurs. Roman struggled to tune in, focus wavering under the lingering exhaustion of the spell.

“–round, could I speak with him?”

“No, not today. He’s been awake for a while, you know how he gets about missions like this. I could pass along your message?”

“… It was a long shot anyways. I’ll be back in a week’s time, hopefully with better news.”

“You’ll find him, Logan, I just know it. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Won’t you stay, just for—”

A blink, and the light had changed, from the dimness of dusk to early morning sun.

Finally free of magical interference, he pushed himself to his feet with only the slightest of swaying, intent on figuring out what was going on and giving Logan a piece of his mind. Possibly in that order.

He was in a spacious but mostly-empty room, a soft arrangement of thick blankets and half-shredded pillows strewn about where he’d formerly slept. The single door was unlocked and opened into a hallway that was too short for him to walk through without crouching.

Feeling slightly foolish and mostly determined, he shuffled along the hall, searching for answers but finding none that made any sense. He didn’t recognize anything about the interior of the building, other than how it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a cozy, lived-in home.

There were framed photos lining the walls, candid pictures of many or just a few people smiling and talking together. Before Roman could inspect them too closely, a clatter from nearby caught his attention.

He turned into a small kitchen, where a short man with brown skin and dark curls appeared to be cleaning up a spill as something on the stove began to smolder. He didn’t seem to have any wings.

Befuddled by the mundane sight, a confused, croaky chirrup made its way from his throat, drawing the attention of the stranger. He braced himself automatically, his wings bristling slightly on automatic, but the stranger only smiled sympathetically.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Placing the washcloth he’d been mopping with aside, he dusted his hands off on his battered apron. “Good to see you awake! Did Logan– that’s the guy who brought you here, did he tell you anything on the way?”

Roman stared at him blankly. The stranger-who-apparently-knew-Logan shook his head in amused resignation. “Well then, I suppose introductions are in order! You can call me Patton, this is my home! You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, and you can come talk to me if you need help with anything!”

“ _You’re taking in_ monsters _like_ stray cats?” Roman attempted and completely failed to ask, the words coming out as hollow but incredulous discordant notes.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t really talk to you just yet,” Patton replied, proving his own point by misinterpreting Roman’s noises entirely. “But no worries, we’ve got other seraphs who can translate! My friend is waiting out in the barn to answer any questions you’ve got, and then once I finish up breakfast, you’re welcome to join us!”

Even without the charcoal mess that had used to resemble eggs currently smoking on the stove, there was no way he was just going to sit down and eat breakfast with _monsters and monster sympathizers_. He huffed, an airy whistling sound, and ignored Patton’s friendly smile as the man gestured helpfully to the open back door.

He would find Patton’s ‘friend’, question them to find out where this place was relative to his kingdom, and then leave promptly. From there, he’d… he’d figure something out. Hunt down the one who did this to him, maybe, and get some answers.

Decided, he stalked out the door, and managed to get three steps into the yard before pulling up short.

The acres of farmland stretched out to freshly-plowed fields, and more than a few chickens wandered about, but most notably, the main yard seemed to be dotted with _winged children_.

A variety of different shapes and ages, he could spot them in little groups, playing games or chattering or even roughhousing like weaned puppies. He spotted a pair wrestling, and nearly stepped forward in alarm at the sight of sudden shifting limbs and feathers.

To his surprise, even with one in a more inhuman state, they continued to playfully tumble without a single scratch, no sign of the sharpness that lined Roman’s entire form.

He could feel curious eyes on him as he beelined for the barn, trying to keep a level head. He shouldn’t have been so shocked by the sight. If there were seraphim adults, of course there would be seraphim children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so… human. He’d had no idea that they could even _develop_ human guises so early in life.

The barn was a humble thing, the red paint worn, but the door hinges barely whispered when he pushed the door open. Inside, there weren’t any animals, but rather, tightly-packed cots and scattered piles of stored supplies. A few kids scurried past, while a deeper voice slowly counted down. An adult figure was sprawled over one of the ceiling rafters, face pressed into the crook of their arm, a pair of wings hanging down loosely around them. The early morning light cast them in silhouette.

Roman attempted to clear his throat, which didn’t work even a little bit and in fact produced a horrific squelching sound. The adult’s wings jerked slightly, but they didn’t look up.

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Hey, newcomer. Welcome to Sanctuary. Patton gave you the spiel? Twelve. Eleven. _Ten._ ”

With an array of hushed giggles, the kids secreted themselves away, some abandoning the barn entirely. They were… playing hide-and-seek?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. More importantly, why did this stranger’s voice seem _familiar?_ Roman stepped forward, drawing his wings in to avoid clipping any nearby hiding spots.

“Two. One. Better have hid well,” they finished, pushing themself up and then swinging over the edge of the rafter. They dropped to the floor soundlessly, looking him over with mismatched eyes. “I’m Virgil.”

Roman felt his whole body bristle up with shock, and then fury.

 _‘You!_ ’ he screeched, pointing aggressively at the guy who had single-handedly ruined his life.

‘Virgil’ eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then recognition lit his gaze.

“Oh. It’s you. Thought you died.”

In the corner of his vision, Roman could see the way his wings had fluffed up to twice their previous size, sharp-edged and rattling. A low, resonant hum filled the air around him, a poor placeholder for the accusations he’d like to hurl at the seraph.

Virgil only raised an eyebrow, looking much less harried than he had during their last encounter. Roman sorely missed having a sword to point threateningly, and also fingers that weren’t half-fused together.

“Might as well sort this out now.” He raised his voice, an edge of something other slipping into it as he projected. “Olly olly oxen free, you little menaces. It’s time for the adults to talk.”

There was rustling as those hiding in the barn crawled and hopped out of hiding spaces, a murmur of complaint that died as soon as they looked at Roman. He wanted to call the gazes invasive, the silence eerie, but it was hard to be truly suspicious of children who looked so _hunted_.

“Scram, fledgelings,” Virgil instructed dryly, shaking his core wings out.

As though breaking a spell, the kids scattered, some slipping past him to the front doors, others vanishing out of sight in hidden corners. Backdoors, secret exits. It seemed these people were well-prepared for an invasion.

An older kid lingered, dark hair and light grey wings ruffled up as they glanced between the two of them. The kid didn’t say anything, but the concern on their face was plain to see.

“Relax, Ellie,” Virgil said, bumping their wings together gently. “I can handle myself. Go make sure Patton isn’t burning the kitchen down?”

The kid– Ellie?– nodded slowly, casting one last unreadable look at Roman before departing and leaving them be.

Virgil stretched, arms over his head, and then between one motion and the next, his body _spilled_ , stretching out into feathers and bone like it was nothing.

His outer wings were narrower, longer, and they stabbed into the ground where Roman’s curled around himself. He had no mask of bone covering his words, but the lower half of his face seemed to be solely composed of jagged, interlocking teeth, and pedipalps like those of a spider rested on the underside of his jaw. Roman couldn’t seem to count just how many eyes he had without his head beginning to ache.

“ _So,_ ” a mental voice spoke, overlaying his own thoughts. “ _You survived after all._ ”

The resulting startled chirp that burst from Roman was nothing short of humiliating, but honestly, how often did one suddenly have to interact with telepathy! After a moment of scrambling, he gamely shot back a vitriolic assortment of unkind names.

“ _All I’m getting is static, buddy. Ease up on the mental clutter._ ” The seraph tilted his head, the small pair of wings atop his head fluttering mockingly. “ _Try not being so bad at this._ ”

Roman scowled with what little facial muscles he could still move, and took a rattling breath before ‘speaking’ again, forming the thought as clearly as possible. “ _Change me back._ ”

“ _Can’t._ ”

“ _What?!_ ” Roman projected, trilling in alarm for emphasis.

Virgil yawned widely, displaying a throat that was, perhaps unsurprisingly, also full of teeth. “ _You heard me. Can’t do it._ ”

“ _You can turn people into monsters, but not change them back?_ ”

“ _Oh, you had ‘monstrous’ down fine already._ ” Virgil was staring at him with several of those uncanny eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “ _This is an improvement, really._ ”

Roman stepped forward and loomed over the seraph, burning with anger. His wings began to flare fully open, feeling sharper than ever. “ _If you won’t tell me how to fix this, I’ll figure out a way to convince_ someone _here to._ ”

All of Virgil’s eyes abruptly narrowed.

“ _Oh yeah?_ ” Virgil’s wings dug deeper into the dirt floor as he lifted himself right off the ground to be just slightly taller than Roman, their faces only inches apart. “ _And just who do you think is around for you to extract info from? You gonna interrogate a bunch of 10 year olds? Pick a fight with a toddler, maybe?_ ”

“ _No! I mean– Well,_ ” Roman faltered, thinking about the number of children he’d seen just in the past half-hour. “ _You can’t be the only one– how are there_ only _kids here?_ ”

Virgil’s head tilted slightly, as though Roman’s answer wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “ _Patton’s here too._ ”

“ _But he’s just a guy!_ ” Roman gestured widely for emphasis. “ _Even if these kids didn’t have the ability to shapeshift into prickly pint-sized poltergeists, there’s way too many of them for one person to look after properly!_ ”

“ _Two people,_ ” Virgil corrected, leaning back. “ _And these kids are more self-sufficient than you think._ ”

He stared at Roman for a moment longer before smirking in a way that made Roman immediately and irrevocably suspicious. “ _Listen,_ Knight _, since you’re so eager to get in a brawl, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you all about what I did to you.”_

“ _Deal,_ ” Roman agreed, as quickly as possible. He shifted into his starting hand-to-hand stance, though his changed form made it feel sort of unbalanced. “ _Let’s go, you and me._ ”

Virgil stepped forward, sliding back into his false human form as he strode right towards Roman. Roman hesitated, his arms still up in a guard position, and between one moment and the next, Virgil had slipped right past him. He made an indignant sound that came out grating, like metal-on-metal.

Virgil turned to glance at him as he reached the barn door. His lips twitched as though barely concealing laughter. “What, you thought I meant right now? No, we’ll fight on my time. And right now, it’s time for dinner. I can tell you _all_ about the rest of the terms that you didn’t wait to hear before agreeing to our deal.”

Roman stared in disbelief as the seraph turned and strolled out, leading the way back to the main house.

Just what exactly had he gotten himself into?


End file.
